


Three, Six, Nine...

by LetMeEntertainYou



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: M/M, OCD, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, ocd!roger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 11:37:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18991885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetMeEntertainYou/pseuds/LetMeEntertainYou
Summary: “Well, goodnight then, love,” Roger said, pressing his lips to John’s. And then again. And again. John wasn’t even conscious for the last one.Roger got himself comfortable, listening to John’s soft breathing. For most people, this should be a relaxing part of the day. It wasn’t for Roger. His body might start to relax, but his brain only gained more speed. There was so much to worry about.





	Three, Six, Nine...

**Author's Note:**

> My blog is Disabled-Queen-HC on tumblr.  
> Anon asked: also i Wanted to ask - could you Do something with joger and ocd? (as you Can obviously see i have ocd myself and ive been feeling extra shitty about it lately) i love Your writing and please keep writing its really great! have a Great day!

“One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three,” Roger mumbled to himself as he flicked the light switch off and on. He had to do it three times and in three sets. Three, six, nine, twelve were the numbers that kept everyone safe. If he did it four times or in four sets, John would die. If he did it twice in two sets, Queen would fail. 

The lights were finally off and he exited the bathroom. He opened and closed the door three times before it was officially shut. He counted the steps he took to the bed. It had to be an odd number or he’d have to start all over. Even numbers meant he would choke to death. 

He was lucky tonight he made it to the bed in seven steps. He crawled into bed where John was already tucked in, sleepy eyed. He finished his bed time routine faster than Roger’s for obvious reasons. 

Roger scooted his way closer to John, dragging to bassist closer to him. “Have you already gone to sleep?” Roger asked. John groaned, wriggling up to Roger, seconds away from succumbing to slumber. Roger took that as a yes.

“Well, goodnight then, love,” Roger said, pressing his lips to John’s. And then again. And again. John wasn’t even conscious for the last one. 

Roger got himself comfortable, listening to John’s soft breathing. For most people, this should be a relaxing part of the day. It wasn’t for Roger. His body might start to relax, but his brain only gained more speed. There was so much to worry about. 

What if John died in his sleep?

What if Roger had a heart attack?

What if he got a call at 3am that Freddie got killed in a car accident?

What if John could read his mind and was pretending to sleep, judging him for all these thoughts?

What if he accidentally smothered John somehow?

What if he died?

What if John died?

His heart was pounding in his chest, a sure sign of a heart attack, right? But it happened every night…no this was the night it’d end. He had to do something about it. 

Roger got up, padding his way to the kitchen. He closed the bedroom door nine times because nine was better than three and six but not excessive like twelve or fifteen. Nine was also the square root of three unli-

He was in the kitchen, rummaging through the medicine cabinets. He needed aspirin for the heart attack he was definitely having and some melatonin so he could sleep. 

He took one aspirin pill even though he’d prefer to take three. He took three melatonin capsules. He touched the water faucet seven times. 

Roger was able to slink back into bed, only closing the door three times. He curled up against John and prayed for unconsciousness. It was the fifth day in a row he did this exact routine. He was scared it’d become permanent.

♚

Roger was up early, whistling as he cooked breakfast for the two of them. Toast and bacon. Nothing too heavy. Neither of them cared for heavy meals. 

He poured oil into the skillet, turning on the stove to mid-high. That setting made the knob perfectly vertical. 

He knew they’d only eat four strips of bacon between them, but that’d mean he’d have to fry three in one batch and one in the other, which wouldn’t work. He feared he’d kill John if he did. So he did six. But he couldn’t do two batches of three because he’d end up killing John that way too. So he crammed 6 strips into the frying pan that could accommodate three at most.

He hummed a song he heard on the radio the other day as he prepared the bread. Six slices again. But he hit a dilemma. There was only two slots in the toaster. He counted. He recounted it too, just in case. He’d have to do three batches of two and two wasn’t a good number. Maybe Brian would stub his toe or drown in his bath tub and he couldn’t be sure which. 

He could ask John to do the toast, but what if it still had the same effect? Roger chewed his lip as the bacon crackled and popped, six slices of bread before him. He could figure this out by himself. He was grown. He could do this. He could do this without killing anyone. Without giving anyone cancer. 

The bacon started to smoke.

Roger would find a way because everyone depended on him to find a way.

The oil was sizzling, the bacon turning black.

Roger had this under control, he just-

“R-Roger, baby, please,” John choked out from the kitchen doorway, eye’s welled with tears.

Roger looked back from the mess in front of him, breathing hard, his own eyes red and glossy.

“I have this,” he said, even though smoke was filling up the room.

John shook his head, having watched the whole thing. “No you don’t” he said, voice cracking. 

John entered the kitchen, pushing Roger aside. He turned off the stove and opened a window. He opened up Roger’s hand, him unknowingly squishing the bread in a horrible mix of fear and frustration. He threw out the ruined bread before standing by the window, the morning sun making his tears glitter. 

“I’m sorry,” John mumbled, trying to compose himself. Roger just stood frozen, not knowing what was happening. What had he done? Was this his fault? Of course it was. It was always his fault. He had one job and he always messed it up. He was supposed to keep everyone safe but he always fucked it up. He miscounted or didn’t do enough sets to-

“You deserve so much better, Rog,” John said after taking a deep breath. He turned to face his boyfriend, stepping closer to him.

“What are you talking about?” Roger said, eyebrows furrowing.

“Baby, the pan was seconds away from starting a grease fire. And you didn’t notice. Too busy with the counting,” John’s head tilted.

“No, no, I was just trying to think of a way to toast everything in three’s so you’d be alright. I would have noticed,” Roger nodded fast, not self aware to how ridiculous he sounded. 

John smiled, but it was sad, his eyes tearing up again. He’d let this go one for far too long. He thought it was a quirk at first. A silly little thing Roger did for whatever reason. But the more time they spent together, especially after moving in, he began to realize how toxic these rituals were. The way Roger blabbered about numbers and how he was the only one in the way of all danger. 

It was obvious Roger was suffering. He might not have been aware of it, but he wasn’t in a good place. 

Roger took the weight of the world onto his shoulders, trying to protect the ones he loved from death and injury. It was John’s turn to do the protecting, the rescuing. 

John pulled a confused Roger into a hug, squeezing him tight. “How about I make some phone calls and then I take you to a diner for breakfast instead?” he whispered, relaxing a little when Roger agreed.

♚

“Breathe, Rog. You have this. I’m here, alive and safe. You can do this,” John said as he stood just outside the bathroom. Roger was shaking, eyes flowing. He couldn’t do this. He didn’t have this. He wanted to do what he always did. He wanted John to live. 

“Turn off the light once, like the therapist said and then you can check me from head to toe. I’ll be alright,” he continued to coach, a hand reaching out to rub Roger’s shoulder.

Roger’s finger trembled as it reached for the light switch. This was his first task. Turning on and off the lights just once. It was only one thing, and yet he wanted to throw up at the thought of it. His mind kept racing with all the what if’s.

“What if I get hurt?” he said shakily.

“I’ll patch you up,” John said immediately and assuredly.

“And if you get hurt?”

“Then you’ll patch me up,”

Roger sniffled, staring at the stupid light switch. Just once. Just once can’t kill someone, right? Can’t make Queen fall off the charts? It can’t, can it?

“C-Count me down,” Roger said, steeling his nerves.

John opened his mouth to start the count down, but stammered before starting again. “ _ **Four**_ , three, two one,”

Roger flicked the switch, a sob coming from his chest. He ran out the bathroom and into John’s arms, shaking like a leaf. John held onto him, rubbing his back, congratulating him for his first step. 

“You did so good, Rog. Brilliant. And look, everyone is alright. Nobody is hurt. You see? You don’t have to be so tense. Everything is perfect,”

It took Roger an hour to calm down, John ushering him to bed. Maybe after that good cry, he could sleep at a proper time and without the aid of medicine. 

Roger preferred to be the big spoon most nights, since that’s what protectors did, but tonight, John was able to wrangle him into being the little spoon. 

John snuggled into Roger’s neck, rubbing his chest, cooing soothing words into his ears. Until he fell asleep. Without a fight or struggle. He fell asleep for the first time in months without panic, without intrusive thoughts, without worry. 

“You’re so strong, so brave. Roger, I love you to bits. I’ve got you, alright? You’re never gonna be alone. We’ll get through this,”

It was only the first step, the first night. There’d be many other challenges to face. But Roger felt ready to tackle them. He had John by his side keeping him afloat.  _Not_ the number three. Just John.


End file.
